


Suddenly Alone

by WinchesterSixx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Smutt, Platonic Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-26 07:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12053952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinchesterSixx/pseuds/WinchesterSixx
Summary: You're a career driven woman with a little out of town action. You and John had been seeing each other for years. With no explanation, you end up suddenly alone.





	1. I Missed Your Face

Traffic sucked. Always did. Too much of your time was spent in your car in general. But today was especially bad. Bumper to bumper. No end in sight. Every song on your playlist just pissed you off by the end of the chorus. Every radio station sucked. The weather sucked. Your job sucked. Being single sucked.

You should be home to your moderately priced, street facing apartment by now. Your cat would be starving, screaming and twisting around your legs. Just like every night, but with extra twisting because you've made him wait.

You should be in your yoga pants and over sized tank with your bra flung to the far corner of the room. You should be halfway through a bag of chips. This day should be fucking over.

You passed the cars on the side of the freeway that had caused the traffic jam. Just a rear-ender that didn't even require a tow. Apparently, everyone had to slow down and take in the lack of carnage. Your foot pressed down on the accelerator as you cleared the wreck and you blissfully made your way home.

Usually, you would use the stairs, but simply put, you just didn't feel like it. Pressing the button for the fourth floor and leaning against the wall of the elevator, you closed your eyes and tried to let the stress of the day fall away. Cat, clothes, chips and bed. That was your plan.

But nothing else today had gone as planned, so why should tonight?

You opened the front door and called out to Spike, your cat. "Mama's home! You want some food? Kitty kitty!" It wasn't like him to not trot to the door, even if it was just to yell at you for being late. Making your way down the hall towards your bedroom, you tried one more time. "Where's mama's handsome fuck face? Spike? Well, fuck you too, buddy." Pushing open the half-closed bedroom door, you made your way to the dresser to set down your keys and handbag.

"That is no way to speak to your baby boy, _____."

Almost jumping out of your skin, everything in your hands hit the floor. "God DAMN it, John! What... how, but when? Why didn't you call?"

John's meat hook hands stroked Spike's orange tabby fur while he smiled at you from your bed, propped up on one elbow. "Because I wanted to surprise you. It's OK. Me and Spike here have been bonding. He gets very angry at you when you're late."

"And I get really angry when a certain someone puts his dirty boots on my bed."

He didn't look away when he toed them off, but Spike leapt off the bed and dashed out of the room, startled when they hit the floor. "Dude. John. You pissed off my kitty."

"Your kitty is usually happy to see me." When John spoke, his voice could be visualized as smoke coiling from the tip of a blown out match, and it never failed to send a chill up your spine. He'd lived one hell of a life, judging from the little he'd told you, and the stress showed in his weathered smile. "C'mere, baby. I've missed your face."

"My face? Seven months of radio silence and it's my face you've missed?" Stepping out of your heels, you made your way across the room. "Nothing else?"

John sat up on the edge of the bed, held his hands out and wrapped his thick fingers around your wrists, pulling you in close between his knees. His hands, those big fucking hands, ran up the backs of your legs until his thumbs tickled just under the hem of your skirt. He slid it up to mid-thigh and pulled you down to straddle his lap, a knee on either side of his ass.

"I'm gonna start with your beautiful face." John's hands traced up your ass, one settled on to the small of your back and the other wrapped around the back of your neck. Using the leverage, he pulled you down and against him at the same time. "I'll eventually get to all the parts I've missed."

"God Almighty. I missed you, too. John? Are we in a hurry tonight?" That's what you hated about John coming to town. He never stayed long.

He smiled up at you, lines forming outside of his soft brown eyes. You looked at his left eye and immediately got lost in that sliver of green on the outer ridge of his iris. "You have somewhere to be, _____?" His skin broke into goosebumps where your fingers played with the hair trying to curl around his ear.

"Nu-huh. My schedule is wide open." You spread your legs more, allowing your pelvis to notch down further against his. His mouth twitched at the corners and his head fell back into your hands. Your mouth chased after his and your lips brushed against the rough stubble on his chin. John lifted his head enough to press his mouth against yours and all of your free will was gone. Anytime John came to visit, you were completely at his mercy. Anything he wanted or needed, he got it. When he kissed you, the air was sucked from your lungs and you always ended up clinging to him like a drowning woman.

John relaxed back into the bed and pulled you down over him. This moment. This one right here? This is what kept you going. Knowing that, eventually, he would come rolling through town. Sometimes for a couple hours. Usually overnight. Once even over a weekend. Knowing that the moment would come when every last thing that was on your mind was gone, because John took up every part of your senses.

You reached back and pulled your skirt up further and John's hands followed. Somehow those heavy, work worn hands touched you gently, with such reverence. It made you feel like the most desirable thing in the world.

Sitting up, still straddling his hips, you slowly popped the buttons on your blouse. John's arm slid behind his head, grinning when he watched you pull it over your shoulders. With one hand you reached around and unhooked your bra, using the other to hold it in place. He took your hand in his and pulled so you couldn't keep it from falling.

He rolled, pulling you over with him so he could hover above you. Holding himself up on one hand he lowered the zipper on the side of your skirt. Pushing himself up so he could stand, he pulled his black tee over his head. John wasn't a young man, 12 years older than your 34 years. However, his body was insane. He was broad through the shoulders and chest and even though he had chest hair (that you usually hated) his upper body was softly defined. The muscles just under his skin always yielded when you touched him, like he melted into you.

Bending at the waist he pressed kisses against your hip and belly, above the waistband of your skirt, before curling his fingers around it and pulling it, along with your cotton panties, down your thighs.

"I haven't seen these before, _____. Are these your 'good girl' panties?"

A blush rushed up your neck to your nose. "I wasn't expecting company, ass hat. I save the good stuff for when I know you're gonna be here."

"I like these though. Sexier than you think." Fingers working the buckle of his belt open, he chuckled deep and quiet while he watched your breath catch in your throat. Slowly and deliberately unzipping his jeans before pushing them down his thighs, he teased you more. Tearing your eyes away from his straining boxers to look at his face, you broke into giggles when you saw his eyes dancing under his bouncing eyebrows.

Scooping under your armpits and tossing you up to the pillows like you weighed nothing, John groaned and licked and sighed and nipped his way from your ankle to your knee. His pace was agonizingly slow and he blinked slowly over every inch. Knowing that begging wouldn't help, you closed your eyes and enjoyed the ride. With your knee over one of his strong shoulders, he slid his fingers across your belly until his palm was pressed against your lips. He hummed louder than your moan when you responded by grinding yourself against him and pulling at his shoulder with your leg.

"John..." His name was like a prayer when he was this close to you.

"Yeah? Tell me what you want." Holy shit. That voice.

"Put your mouth on me, John. You know what I like."

He slid his thumb down and spread you open. "Holy fuck, woman. Something has you hot. You're so wet it's running down your ass." Making his point, he dipped into you and spread your slick. When he grazed your clit with that callused pad, your body jolted and you gripped his wrist tight. Taking your other leg and sliding his arm under it, he settled in between your legs and slipped his tongue between your folds. You heart immediately pounded in your ears and you pulled his face tight against you with your foot on the back of his head.

He pressed his tongue flat against your clit and held it there, calming you slightly. Once he felt your body relax a little, he gripped your hips to hold you still while he worked you over. Alternating between slow laps, deep sucks and fluttering taps he had you writhing and gripping at the bedspread.

The only view you had of his face was from his cheekbones up. His brow was knit together in concentration while he countered your every movement with a change of his own. Your breaths were coming in short ragged gasps and your lips had gone dry. Feeling the bounce of your head when it fell against the pillow, John gripped your thighs tighter and yanked you against his mouth. Looking down at him, his eyes were hooded and dark under his thick brows. When your mouth fell open and your head tilted to the side, those lines at the corners of his eyes came back. Only John Winchester could smile and eat pussy at the same time.

Reaching for both his hands, he let your fingers slide between his palms and your thighs and gripped them tight. You came with a gasp and a short, high pitched cry, followed by another and another. John's moans vibrated your flesh, but between your cries and the static in your ears, he might as well have been silent. The noises you made started to melt into sighs as your body finally relaxed. The flat side of his tongue hit your clit once, and then again, eliciting an involuntary grunt and a buck of your hips each time.

With hot breath and ghosting lips, he zig zagged his way up your torso. His tongue traced the underside of your breasts before pulling your nipples, still painfully hard from the orgasm, into his mouth.

Trying to find words, you mumbled satisfied words of praise. "See, this is why I dig you, John. You're a giver."

"Mhmm. But it's 'cause you sing so pretty when you come." John's kisses were gentle, but increasingly frenzied. When you reached for his face he stopped and gave you a serious stare and shook his head, instantly distancing himself from you. He closed his eyes and the space between you was pregnant with something unspoken.

"Hey. Penny for your thoughts. Where'd you go, John?"

His kind smile was forced and he tried to find an excuse. "Been a long time since someone touched me the way you do. Makes me feel... I dunno. It's not important." His mouth was back on yours in an instant. Hooking your heels into his underwear and pushing them down as far as you could, a satisfied moan came from deep in your chest when his cock bobbed against your core. The pressure increased when he worked his legs to kick them off completely.

"John? Have you-"

"Nu-huh. You?"

This was your shorthand to ask if there had been anyone else since you last saw each other. Nothing had ever been said about exclusivity, you just never found yourself interested in anyone else. Even your fantasies were John.

"Nope. I've been the crazy cat lady since you left." This meant no condoms. No pauses and no barriers. It was safe to have John inside you, skin to skin.

"Good. Not because you can't though. Ya know? I'm not saying-ugh. I suck at this."

Peppering his face with kisses while your hands were on either side of his head, your fingers tangled into his thick hair. You punctuated the press of your mouth on his skin with soft, reassuring words. For as big and strong as he made himself out to be, deep inside John was broken. "I know, John. It's OK." Your hands slipped to grip his shoulders, pulling him tight against your chest and locking your ankles behind his back. Grinding up into him and feeling him yield under your fingertips, his forehead fell against yours. He's breathing turned into some kind of purr, like a big contented jungle cat.

John nuzzled under your ear with his nose as he licked and bit along the arc of your neck. While he was propped on one elbow next to your head, he reached down and lined his cock up with you. When the blunt head breached your body, you had to fight to keep still. John's body went rigid and he was taking deep breaths filled with hums.

"You ok, John? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Sorry. Just want to remember every moment of this." Before you could ask any more questions he slid the rest of the way into you, spreading and stretching you from the inside. Your legs fell away at the sensation, but as soon as your foot hit the bed, he was lifting your leg to wrap it over his hip. John moved the extra bit that this new position allowed. One hand was on his side and the other on his shoulder where it met his neck. He watched your mouth when you chewed on your bottom lip and grinned when your fingertips curled into his flesh. He knew what you wanted, but he was holding back, watching you squirm. He didn't move until he felt you tremble and heard you whine a little.

Moving just enough to let you feel a bit of friction, but not enough to let you respond, John's mouth hovered over yours. He was close enough that when his tongue darted out to wet his lips, it ghosted over yours. As soon as that taste of Winchester hit you, you couldn't hold back anymore. Lifting your head and crushing your mouth against him, you started moving below him desperately, trying to get enough of a foot hold to fuck him in earnest, but he gripped your hip tight and stilled you.

"No, not like that." He took control of everything. The kisses became soft and seductive. His cock began sliding in and out of you slowly. Every time he bottomed out, he tilted his hips and rubbed against your clit. Every time he pulled out, he canted them to brush against your g-spot.

"Christ, John, that feels good." And it did, but it wasn't going to get you where you wanted to be.

He relaxed his grip on your hip and he allowed you to move with him, both of his hands moving to rest on the pillow at either side of your head. Mirroring his movements and the angles he was using kept the friction going and intensified it. He allowed your to quicken your pace and a fine sheen of sweat broke out over your skin. John dipped his head, letting his tongue trace the valley between your breasts, tasting the saltiness that was pooling there. He was starting to grunt with each thrust. Cords of veins, standing out on his neck, were visible while he began to pump into you faster.

He slid an arm under your waist and leaned back, pulling you up with him. With your legs wrapped around him and your arms wound around his neck, holding yourself against him you pulled his cheek against your chest and rested your jaw against his hair. You weren't able to move from this angle, but he was. Holding you tight, John began thrusting up into you, his breath coming in quick hot gasps that grazed over your skin. His hair was damp under your touch and yours was sticking to your shoulders and back. There was a familiar electricity edging up your back and spreading around to your hips. You could feel your walls start to clench around him involuntarily, your body silently letting him know you were close.

"Oh God, _____. I need..."

"Yeah. Fuck, John, come for me. Let me hear you." Every time you'd ever heard John's voice it was low and deep, but now, he cried out. Sighs punched out of him with each pulse that sent his seed deep inside you. Your own climax lost in the emotion that John was showing. He had always showed passion, but at arm's length. This was a different side of John Winchester.

"Hey, I'm sorry - Uh." He laughed uncomfortably against your neck while you ran your fingernails up and down his back. "Guess I kinda got caught up." He was apologizing for coming too soon. It was endearing and you were anything but unsatisfied.

"Don't. It was amazing. Always is. Don't think I could have come again after that thing you did with your mouth."

He tilted his face up to you and you could see the soft blush on his cheeks. Hungry kisses were passed between you when he laid you back on the bed before rolling onto his back. You rested your head on his chest and drug lazy circles through his chest hair. Flecks of gray were visible when the light hit it just right. "Have you eaten dinner? I can throw something together for us."

"No, baby. I just wanna hang out with you, ok?" You tilted your head and rolled onto your stomach so you could rest your chin on his chest. He looked down at you and smiled, moving your hair off your forehead. His eyes were dancing all over your face.

You finally broke the uncomfortable feeling and spoke. "This is getting weird. Whadda ya doing, sweet stuff?"

He tried to smile, but the sadness in his eyes betrayed him."I just miss you when I'm not around. Tryin to make sure I've got the memory right before I go."

And there it was. "Speaking of...when is that gonna be this time? Can we at least sleep for a while? I'll make you coffee before you go."

"Yeah, we can get a couple hours." His arm wrapped around you while you snuggled down into his shoulder. Wrapping your leg around his, you felt the peace and safety he always brought with him.

##########

You woke up with Spike's heavy body on your chest. It was still dark when you opened your eyes, but the space that John had filled was cold and empty now. Pushing your cat aside you sat up and called out for him. Your voice came back as an echo in the empty space. Wrapping the sheet around you and padding out to the living area, you found that empty too.

He didn't leave without saying goodbye. Not ever. 'Maybe he went out to get something to eat. Maybe beer. I don't have beer and he doesn't like wine.' Hurrying back to the bedroom, you searched your bag that you'd dropped to the floor earlier. You never used the number he had given you, but something said he hadn't run out on an errand.

The phone rang four times and then went to voicemail.

'This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean at 866-907-3235. He can help.'

Spike curled up in your lap while you stared blankly at the phone in your hand.


	2. Feels Like Home

'This is John Winchester. I can't be reached.'

Can't be reached? Maybe, you don't want to be reached. Maybe you came to town for one more fuck. Couldn't be bothered to stay and have coffee.

'If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean at 866-907-3235. He can help.'

Help with what?! Answer me why his father didn't even say goodbye? That conversation would be fun.

'Yeah, hi. Dean, is it? Um, I'm _____. Your dad, well, he pulls into town occasionally and we bang like rabbits. Only see him or talk to him when he's here. Look, after a particularly hot fuck session, he bailed when I was asleep. I don't know if you know this, but he's not a tug and run kinda guy. His message says you can help.'

Three years. Three fucking years you've been seeing this guy. If you could call it "seeing". Fucking. That's what it was. You were his girl in this particular port. That was it. And apparently, it wasn't a port he was going to come back to.

He has a son. His name is Dean. That one voice mail message told you more about John than he'd ever told you himself.

"Spike, your mama is a damn fool." Your big tabby was mewing up at you, feeding off your stress. "Shoulda known better."

Tossing the sheet onto the bed, you sulked your way into the bathroom. You sat on the toilet to pee and couldn't decide if you should be mad or sad. 'I'll just go back to work tomorrow.'

There was almost always something to do at work that made it easy to shut off your brain.

##########

Getting to the office the next day, you realized you hadn't remembered a single minute of the commute. Being a training director for a not for profit organization for communications for the deaf and hard of hearing was not your dream job. You didn't even have a dream job. You'd walked into their offices ten years ago and filled out an application. Started on the ground floor and worked your way up.

Now here you were, ten years later, and the only thing you could say about the job was it paid your bills and left enough for your make up fetish. There was a 401k that you'd been paying into and you'd been able to get in on stocks for a startup internet company when you were a kid. Aside from the money you took out to get your apartment, the money just sat there.

All this added up to one thing. You were self sufficient. You didn't need anyone. You had spent more time without someone...than you had spend with him. You'd lived single. Now you just had to stop thinking about John Winches...him.

##########

*Three weeks since John*

"Yeah, mom. I'm fine. I've got the blues. That's all." It had been three weeks since John had vanished. You could make it through the day to day, but there was no hiding your feelings from mom.

"I think you're just lonely. You can take care of yourself, but it's always nice to have someone to come home to."

"I have somebody, mom." You knew the next sentence before it came over the phone line.

"That cat is not a somebody and you know it. Why don't you come home for a visit. Daddy would love to see you."

"You know I can't. Work is-"

"Work is fine. They give you vacation time for a reason. Pack your shit. Come visit your parents. And before you give me another tired excuse, bring the damn cat."

The line clicked dead. She'd hung up before you could argue anymore. "Ugh! Spike, I'm sorry, but we have to go to Colorado."

Sitting down at your laptop, you emailed your boss. Said you had a family emergency that you needed to leave for. You sent him the files of your training materials and thanked him in advance for his understanding. The next email went to your mother. You'd be leaving in the morning, cat in tow. You asked her not to call you. That you would be doing some thinking on the drive so you'd get some things out of your system and enjoy your stay.

Closing your email account, you stared at the wall paper for a while. Against your better judgement, you opened a search bar and started typing. You entered his name but shut the lid before you could click "search". You dialed his cell phone again, entering *67 before his number. Maybe with out knowing it was you, he'd answer.

'This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean at 866-907-3235. He can help.'

"Fuck you, John Winchester. And your son, Dean."

**********

Belting out your angry girl music consisting of Alanis Morisette, Melissa Etheridge and Janis Joplin, the miles between your life in San Jose, California and Colorado Springs, Colorado ticked by. Spike had finally stopped howling after about a hundred miles and was curled up, glaring through the grate of his carrier at you.

"I know, baby boy. Not your favorite place to be. It's gonna be alright. Granny's gonna feed you chicken and you and Gramps can hang out on the recliner. And Mama's gonna have a nervous breakdown. Spike, tell me I should be glad John's gone."

That traitor of a cat answered with the saddest most pitiful sound that could only be translated into, "When's John coming back, Mama?"

*********

When you pulled into their drive, your mom came out surprised. Driving through the night got you there hours earlier than expected. Dad stood at the top of the porch, smiling at his girl.

"Hi, Daddy. You look good."

"I've been working out! Mom tries to make me drink kale. Who the hell drinks kale?" After a crushing bear hug, he held you out at arm's length. "You look tired. You're working too hard."

"It's what I do, Daddy." He wrapped his arm over your shoulder and led you into the house, Mom behind you, talking baby talk to the tabby in the crate.

**********

*Four weeks since John*

"So, you're telling me you haven't been dating at all?" She looked over the island at you. You had been assigned green beans and snapping them in half or pulling off the stems was not nearly distracting enough. A sigh escaped your lips that caught her attention.

"I was. Kinda. He's an older guy. Travels for work and when he passed through town..."

"You hooked up." Your mother, the woman with a garden and who made pies for the PTA bake sales, said 'hook up'. When the actual fuck did she learn about that?!

"Mother!

"You did, didn't you?"

"Ugh! Yes! A few times over a few years. But he's out of the picture now. No worries."

"Well, you need to find a new friend with some benefits. Or maybe get a toy thing."

"MOTHER!"

**********

*Five weeks since John*

Coming home had been a good idea actually. It was nice to decompress. Dad's working out consisted of walks in the park. And you went with him every day. Each day you had to shorten the walks a little. You were getting tired and just couldn't figure out why. Finally chalking it up to a little depression, you waved it off and went on with you visit.

Once you started waking up and running to the toilet to vomit, the thought planted itself in your brain. When your boobs started to get sore, you counted days before and after John's last visit. God dammit, John Winchester.

**********

"_____, you're looking awful green around the gills. You feeling alright?"

"Yeah, Daddy. I'd actually like to talk to Mom for a minute. Privately?"

"Absolutely! It's about time for Spike and I to take our nap. C'mon big guy." His tail was straight up in the air while he trotted after the promise of a snuggle.

Mom waited until Dad was out of site and the sound of the TV gave you the privacy you needed. "Go ahead. Tell me. I already know, but tell me."

"Mama, how can you know?" Your chin quivered when she took your face in her hands and made you look at her.

"'Cause my baby is having a baby and when you're a mom, you just know. How far?"

"Five weeks." Your voice suddenly got very small. "And 2 days."

You fell into her arms and just let yourself cry. Fucking John Winchester.

**********

'This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean at 866-907-3235. He can help.'

Same thing. Every stupid time you made the stupid call. Falling back on the bed you'd slept in since you were in grade school, you stared at the ceiling. You'd never even thought of having kids before. Now, here you were, bun in the oven and the father "can't be reached".

Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves, you picked up your phone and called him again. This time you left a message.

"Hey, John. It's me, _____. Look, I. Ugh. I really need to talk to you. Not about us but...well I guess it is about us. I'm...I'm gonna give you until tomorrow and then I'm gonna try your son. I hope you're ok, wherever you are. Um, bye."

Ok, you did it. More than you'd done since he left. Left a message. Now he knew you needed him. If he knew that, he'd call. Please, let him call.

The next call you made was to your boss. You told him you weren't coming back. You felt terrible for leaving him in the lurch, but the family 'situation' couldn't be walked away from. He understood and said he'd send your info to HR so that your financials could be taken care of.

**********

*Five and a half weeks since John*

The next day came and went with no John. No phone call. Refusing to call him again. You decided to sleep on it and maybe call his kid the next day. All you'd do was ask if he knew how to reach him and maybe pass on a message to call you. You weren't going to dump the truth on him. John had a right to know. But you were going to do this without him. If he could walk away once, he could do it again. And now there was going to be a baby. Now there would be two of you sad if he walked out.

When the sun hit your face through the window, you groaned and rolled onto your stomach. The nausea was already there and creeping up slowly. Double nausea, really. Today was the day you'd call Dean.

After emptying your guts into the toilet, you brushed your teeth and headed into the kitchen for coffee. Mom still hadn't told Dad your secret and that was ok with you. Until you'd run out of options to reach John, you didn't need to get him riled up.

On auto pilot, you made your way to the coffee machine and made yourself a cup. Mom gave you the sideways glance from the stove, eyebrows raised. Ducking her look, you went back to making coffee and shook your head slightly.

"You want some breakfast, sweet stuff?" Dad was just excited that you were still there and hadn't said how long you'd be staying.

"Nah. I'm ok, Dad. Maybe brunch. K?" You gave him a peck on the cheek and went back to your room where your phone was charging.

**********

'This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean at 866-907-3235. He can help.'

"No. No he can't."

You dialed the number you had memorized after listening to the message a thousand times.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

You were just about to give up when you heard a gruff voice through the phone. It wasn't as deep as John's, but it would be someday.

"Yeah. This is Dean."

"Is this...uh. Is this Dean Winchester? John's son?"

"Who is this?" His voice was suspicious and hopeful at the same time.

"My name is _____. I'm a friend of your dad's. It's not an emergency, really. I just, ugh. This sounds really stupid, but I need to tell him something."

"Well, he's not really available. So, why don't you tell me and I'll get him the message."

"Dean, it's not really a message kinda thing. When you see him, please have him call me, ok? He knows my number."

"Yeah. Well, if something happens. You can always call me I guess."

"Ok, Dean. Thank you."

You rolled over and covered your head with a pillow. How can this be breaking your heart so easily?

**********

*Six weeks since John*

"What if I don't want to have a family meeting? Nobody asked me." Dad wasn't going to do anyone any favors. The last time you called a 'family meeting' it had been to tell him you were moving to California.

"Daddy, please just come to the kitchen table. I'm asking you nicely. Come sit down or I'll turn Spike against you."

He set your cat on the floor and almost stomped into the kitchen, grumbling the whole way. "Stupid family meetings...never gonna be good news...I just wanna watch game shows and sit with my cat."

Clapping at his shoulder and pushing him along, you felt the need to remind him of a very important piece of information. "Spike is my cat. Remember?"

"Yeah, but he likes me better."

Mom had set the urn of coffee on the table with mugs in front of three chairs. Dad took his place at the head of the table with you and mom flanking him on either side. He smiled at the two of you and folded his hands in front of him. "I guess you're all wondering why I called you here today."

"Did retirement do this to him, Mom? Or did he hit his head?" Dad laughed and informed you it was kale poisoning.

"Ok. What's goin' on that you need a meeting?"

The took a deep breath and braced yourself. "Ok. First of all, I'm not going back to work. I'm gonna stay with you guys. I have some friends that are gonna pack up my apartment and have my personal stuff shipped here. The rest of it will get sold or donated."

All of the joking was gone now and Dad looked genuinely concerned. "Are you ok? Are you sick?" You took his hand in yours and patted it gently.

"Daddy, it's ok. I'm fine. It's just..." Mom gave you an encouraging nod and tilted her head with a smile.

"I'm pregnant. And I don't want to be alone." Dad swallowed hard and set his jaw. Oh, no. Here it comes.

"Who is he? Why isn't he here telling me with you? He just deflowers my baby girl and runs off?"

"Deflower!? Daddy, I'm 34 years old. That ship sailed a long time ago. He was a friend. We had a casual relationship. Something went wrong with birth control. I'm trying to reach him because letting him know is the right thing to do. But, I'm not going to ask anything from him. You have to respect that. Ok?"

Dad was quiet for a little too long and you could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. "You'll stay here. Mom and I will take care of you." Ok, guess he was going to make this his idea. "How far along are you? Did you know when you came to visit?"

"Only a month and a half. And no, I didn't know."

Staring at his hand in yours, he nodded and looked at mom. "Well, I guess Spike isn't going to be our only grandchild."

**********

*Eight weeks after John*

Sitting at your laptop and searching out ob/gyns in the area was not what you'd planned to be doing on a visit with your parents. Spike nosed open your bedroom door and climbed up on the bed.

"Oh, the traitor has returned. What's up kitty? Is mama's boy mad about something."

Like that night. When you'd gotten home late. And he was on your bed, with John. How the fuck did you get here? Where were you supposed to go now?

"Ok, Spike. I'll try again."

'This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean at 866-907-3235. He can help.'

Fucking John Winchester.

**********

*Ten weeks after John*

Dr. Yim seemed to be a nice enough guy. He had a kind face that seemed to show genuine excitement for you. He asked once about the father, and when you told him the situation, he didn't ask again. He was happy that you'd be with your parents. That you'd have a support system.

"I'm going to need some family history. From both sides if at all possible. You can take the paperwork home, but I want you to make another appointment for a month from now. Yes, you're healthy, I don't foresee any issues, but remember it's not just you anymore. We've got to keep tabs on you."

"Thanks, Doc" His hand was small and soft when he shook yours.

**********

*Twelve weeks after John*

Dad had decided to take you out for Mexican food. It was the only thing you wanted, even though the heartburn was going to kill you later. The poor waitress put up with Dad's sad attempt at saying food items in an "Authentic Mexican Accent".

The sound of the trill ringtone made you jump before reaching into your purse to silence it. "You're not gonna get that?"

"Nope. Hangin' out with my Daddy."

"Speakin' of Daddies." Ugh. Here we go again.

"I told you, he's not going to be a part of this."

"Yeah, I heard you. But, here's the thing. He's got a right to know. I don't suppose he planned this anymore than you did. Mom said he wasn't a one time thing." You made a note to give Mom the silent treatment when you got home.

"I've tried to reach him. I really have. He's just not reachable right now. I've left a couple of messages. Leaving out the meaty parts, but I said I needed to talk to him." Dad shrugged in acceptance even though you knew this would be a common subject of conversation for a while. "I'll be right back, Daddy. I gotta run to the ladies."

You grabbed your purse and headed to the restroom. Picking out the middle stall like you always did, you checked your phone to see who'd called you. The phone number on your screen was familiar, but you couldn't quite place it. The little envelope for voicemail was blinking in the corner.

'Yeah, uh, _____? This is Dean, John Winchester's son? Um, if you've heard from my dad will you ask him to contact me? I haven't been able to reach him to give him the message, but I hope whatever that situation was is taken care of. I know his message said I could help. I don't know if I can, but I can sure try. Call me back. Please.'

Dean called you. Whatever was going on with John was enough for his kid to call you. Your "situation", as he called it, was just fine.

Finishing up your business, you washed your hands and looked up at your self in the mirror. "I'm going to have to have a real conversation with this guy. Great."


	3. Daddy's Little Girl

Internal monologues suck. You lose all focus. Can't have a conversation with anyone else, because you're too busy performing a soliloquy like you're fucking Hamlet or something.

'Dean's reached out to me. He doesn't know where John is either. Guy doesn't even know why I'm looking for his father. Doesn't know anything about me at all. But whatever has him searching is bad enough that he reached out to me. Do I tell him I'm pregnant with his sibling? Should I ignore his message? Should I call and just say I haven't heard from him? Goddammit, John Winchester!'

A soft rap on the bedroom door pulled you out of your thoughts. Mom poked her head in and asked permission to join you. You waved her in, glad for a moment of distraction.

"So, what has driven you into seclusion? It's been a quiet couple days with you up here."

"I got a phone call, Mom. John has a son. An adult son. He left me a message. He doesn't know where John is either. I don't know what to do, Mama. I'm a grown ass woman, and I have no idea what to do."

She sat on the edge of the bed and took your hand in hers. There was a big, deafening silence before she said anything. She was picking her words very carefully.

"_____, your dad and I have talked about this quite a bit. We are going to support you no matter what you do. Maybe you should call him back. I think it may help you find your footing. Pick a starting place that will let you focus on 'little bit'. Your baby needs you more than anyone else does. Tie up your loose ends."

"OK. But I can't do it with you here OK? I'll come down when I'm done. Promise." Mom patted your hand twice before leaving you alone. Picking up the phone and mentally preparing yourself to dive into an infinite well of loose ends, you patted your belly. "Cover your ears, 'little bit'. Don't know if I want you to know this stuff."

**********

"How do you know my dad? He's more of a loaner than anything. Usually doesn't have 'friends'."

"Met him in California, a few years ago, in a coffee shop. Only empty seat was at his table. He asked me to join him."

Dean took a while before he spoke again. "Well, it seems like you're the last one to see him. Where are you? I think it might help if we, ya know, talk face to face."

Deciding to go all in, you told him you were in Colorado Springs. He perked up a bit when he told you he was in Grand Junction. "That's only five hours away. Can we meet you in the morning? Breakfast or something?"

"Wait, we?"

"Yeah. Me and my brother, Sam. Guess Dad didn't talk about us, huh?"

"Your dad didn't say much about himself, let alone anyone else. It's starting to feel like I didn't really know him at all."

A soft chuckle that sound an awful lot like John's came through the line. "You and me both."

**********

You decided on somewhere kinda quiet but pretty public. The diner across town would be perfect. No one would recognize you there or ask where you've been keeping yourself. No one would gossip about you meeting with two young men by yourself.

You told Dean to meet you there at 9:00, but you arrived at 9:15. You didn't want to give a desperate impression. Walking in and swinging your head from side to side must have been enough to give you away because a very tall young man was making a beeline for you.

"_____?" After your nod, he smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Sam, Sam Winchester." He must be the other son. This kid was tall. And young. And really cute. "Dean is right over here." You followed the path of the thumb he shot over his shoulder with your eyes. Standing next to a corner booth was the guy that must be Dean. He held up one hand in greeting and looked suspicious as hell. "Don't worry, he's not as much of an ass as he seems. He's just worried, ya know?" Sam had guided you to stand in front of Dean with a hand on the small of your back.

Dean was tall, too. Not as tall as Sam, but taller than John. "Hey, Dean. Nice to put a face to the voice." He shook your hand gently and gestured for you to sit. "So, you guys travel for work a lot, too?"

"Yeah, it's kind of a family business thing." Sam's face was open and hopeful, but Dean's was unreadable. Sam waved the waitress over and gestured to you.

"Hot tea with lemon, please." Stupid reading of stupid books told you that having stupid coffee was a stupid idea. "So, is it strange for you guys, ya know, not being able to reach him?"

Dean was slouched back in his seat, chewing on the pad of his index finger. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward on a forearm. "Yeah, it's strange. He never mentioned you, or anyone in California for that matter. How do you know him?"

You could feel the flush rushing to your cheeks while you struggled to find a way to say this. Yes, his sons were adults, but John was still their dad. Thinking of your Mom and Dad doing anything beyond holding hands gave you the heebie jeebies. Now you were gonna tell these guys you were their dad's booty call.

"Well, John and I had a, um, personal relationship."

Sam perked up a little and smiled at you. "So, you were dating?"

"I don't know that it was dating. We liked hanging out together." The brothers looked at one another and back to you. The wheels had clicked and the ruse was up. You poured the hot water over the teabag and waited. You'd be damned if you were going to actually say it.

"Did he ever mention us?" Dean tried to act casual, but it was pretty transparent. "I mean, you've been friends or whatever for a long time. You would have talked about family and stuff at some point, right?"

Sam was looking at his hands and shaking his head. You were staring Dean down across the table, left eyebrow raised. Sam started to say something, but you stopped him with a hand, palm facing him.

"What are you worried about, Dean? What do you think I want here. You called me, remember?"

"It's just weird, ya know?" His head was tilted to the side, mouth turned down at the corners. "You say you knew our father for years, but he never mentioned us and he sure as hell didn't mention you."

"Oh, my God. Dean!"

"It's ok, Sam. I know John is a widower. That's all I know. And, believe me, I know he loved her. Actually he still does. But, Dean, your dad wasn't a monk. Our relationship was casual. But we both cared about each other. I just need to talk to him. There something he deserves to know."

"What does he need to know? I'll get him the message." He was being a complete prick. Why was he so mad at you? "He doesn't have money, if that's what you're looking for."

"Jesus, Dean! _____, I am so sorry. I don't know-"

"Stay out of it, Sammy." Dean's head didn't swivel on his neck at all. If he was trying to win a staring contest, he'd picked the wrong opponent.

"I don't want anything, Dean." You leaned forward, mirroring his posture. "If I were to walk away right now and never see or hear from any of the three of you again, I'd be ok with that. I've done my due diligence to reach him. I'm not going to sit here and be bullied by a piss ant like you." He didn't even blink when he leaned closer to you.

"You're pregnant." And that was the moment in time when you lost the staring contest. You looked down to your untouched tea. Big, fat, hormonal tears were filling your eyes and threatening to fall.

"Yeah. I am. It wasn't planned. Birth control failed. I'm doing this on my own. I am financially set. I don't need anything, from anyone. I thought he should know. I wanted to tell him myself, but you're a douche and pushed it. Sam, it was good to meet you. Dean? Fuck off."

Wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, you slid out of the booth and turned to make it for the door. After making it three steps, a very sweet faced Sam had somehow slid around to stand in front of you.

"Wait, _____, please. My brother, he can be a dick. I know that. But, don't judge us by him, ok?"

"Please, Sam. I just want to go, ok? I shouldn't have come." And cue the tears. You were actually gesturing to your face and shrugging. "I don't know what this is! I don't feel like crying. Why am I crying?!" Sam wrapped an arm around you and escorted you outside where you headed to your car. Sam held your head to his chest and let you cry. Your hands clung to the sides of his shirt.

His big hands rubbed up your back, trying to soothe you, but you started crying harder. "Um, you gonna be ok?"

"Your hands are b-b-b-big." Sam chucked a little and shrugged. "I miss your dad, Sam. I try not to." Pushing back from him and wiping the tears from your face you dug for your car keys in your handbag. "I just wanna go home. Forget I ever called, OK? If you see him, tell him to call me or don't. I don't care."

By the third pass through, looking for your keys, you'd officially lost your shit. Looking into your car, there were no keys hanging in the ignition. "Ok. I must have-"

"Left them on the table?" Dean's voice was coming up behind you and all you could do was stare at Sam. "Yeah, uh, I'm an asshole, _____. I am about 90% of the time lately. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. And, I'm sorry." You stayed facing away from him, biting your lip and trying to hold it together. "You gonna take your keys?"

Here came the tears again. This wasn't you! Hormones. Stupid girl hormones. You could see the 'Oh, poor thing' look on his face. Now, usually when you saw that look from anyone, you got pissed. But right now, it made you melt and pull Dean into a hug. "You aren't an asshole. Well, you were in there. But, I kinda dropped a bomb on you." Dean pushed you back and held you gently by your shoulders. When he smiled, it was the same crooked smile that John had used on you a million times.

Your face crumpled and you hung your head, leaning into Dean's chest. He looked over the top of your head at Sam. "Dude, I think we broke her."

Laughing through tears you tried to pull yourself together. "You have your dad's smile, Dean. It's just, ugh, can we not do this in a parking lot?"

"Yeah, we're here till morning." Sam was offering you a bandana from his back pocket. "Where did you have in mind?"

Wiping your nose with the black cloth he'd offered, you pulled your phone out and called your parents house. Mom answered on the first ring. With very short sentences you asked her to set up the table on the deck out back and make some iced tea. She made sure everything was ok and promised not to let Daddy get riled up. "Ok, boys. Let's head over to my place. We can get comfortable and really talk. That ok with you?"

Both nodded and headed to a beautiful 1967 Chevy Impala. "We're gonna follow you. See you there." Dean held up a hand to you in kind of a wave thing.

Getting in your car, you said a silent prayer that Daddy would behave himself. It wasn't bloody likely, but Mom was on your side. If there was anyone Dad listened to it was Mom.

**********

The Impala slid to a stop on the curb in front of your parents house. You were still gathering a couple things and climbing out of your car when their doors shut with a heavy thunk. The screen door on the front of the house swung wide and Dad stepped out on the porch, all 'heart eyes' over their car.

"Holy shit. I haven't seen one of these in a while! This belong to your friends here, _____?" He was already making his way across the lawn, hand extended. Once names were exchanged, you heard the dreaded question coming out of your fathers overly friendly face. "How do you know my daughter?"

Before anyone could formulate an answer, you shouted out towards the house for your mother, who came bounding down the stairs and asked if these were the gentlemen that had come to visit. "Yes, Mom. Um, we do have quite a bit to discuss, so we will just sit at the table on the deck."

"I'd love to talk about that car before you fellas leave!" Dad was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Sounds good, sir. Looking forward to it." So far, Dean had been a cock knob. However, he was laying the charm on thick and it couldn't be at a better time.

**********

Mom met you at the sliding door with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of tea, always the perfect hostess. After setting the tray in the center of the patio table, she wiped her hands on a towel and addressed the men flanking you at the table. "You must be Sam and Dean. I know you all have a lot to talk about. _____, you be sure to let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, Mom." The brothers smiled at each other while she went back in the house. "Ok, guys. I'm feeling a little better. And I apologize for earlier."

Sam jumped at the opportunity to soothe you again, but you couldn't take your eyes away from Dean. He was a mini-John. His posture somehow disinterested and defensive at the same time. When he looked out over the lawn, his profile was pensive, jaw clenching like John's. Shoulders broad like John's. The green in his eyes was the same color as the sliver of green in John's left.

Finally he turned back to the conversation and saw you staring and sat up a little taller. You tried to make your smile as soft as possible when you addressed him. "You look like your dad, Dean. Carry yourself like him." What you had thought would be a compliment seemed to make him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to speak out of turn."

He held your eyes for a second before looking down at his hands. "It's not that. It's just, ugh. Look what are we even doing here, _____."

"Dean!" Sam seemed to have experience at apologizing for his brother. "You called her remember?"

When Sam got mad, his mouth turned down at the corners. His brow was strong, like John's. His hands were big like John's. The two of them together were a beautiful representation of their dad.

But there was a softness there, too. The freckles across Dean's nose and cheeks that would betray his age as he got older. The kindness in Sam's face, so open and readable. Knowing Dean was already pissed at you, you went all in and asked the question that often flitted into your mind. "Sam, can you tell me about your mom? I always kind of wondered about her. Your Dad never stopped loving her, ya know."

There was a heavy sigh from Dean when Sam entertained the thought of talking about her. "Ya know, I don't remember her at all. I was only 6 months old when she died. Dean was four. She's been a mystery to me all my life."

"I'm sorry, Sam. Dean, that must have been hard. Having to help your dad when you were so young. That can shape who you turn out to be." Dean lifted his chin at you and leveled a 'who the fuck do you think you are' glare. You glared right back. Refusing to be bullied by the kid. "Hey, how old are you guys anyway."

"I'm 26. Sam's 22. Anything else, or do you want to talk about our Dad? When's the last time you saw him?"

"I last saw John 12 weeks and 2 days ago. I came home from work, he was at my place. A few hours later I woke up and he was gone. I called his phone, got your number and here we are. Do you need more detail than that?" Sam leaned back from the table as you leaned across it at Dean. "Cause I'll give you the details if it means you'll lighten the fuck up. I'm not trying to trap anyone, asshole. I've got my own money. I've got my own support system. The only reason you're sitting on my deck, Winchester, is because telling John is the right fucking thing to do. Nothing else. My baby does not need anything or anyone that does not want 100% to be in their life."

"I think you boys need to go."

"Daddy, please." You hadn't heard the door open behind you or any footsteps on the wooden planks. "Just go back inside."

"Sir, you're right. We're out of line." Why was Sam accepting any of this blame? "It's a touchy, personal subject and I think everyone is on edge. I'm sure it looks like we're ganging up on, _____. Join us? She needs someone in her corner."

Damn, that was smooth. Your dad seemed charmed for the moment. Enough to let them stay a bit longer. He didn't ask if you wanted him to join you, and honestly you didn't want to argue.


	4. A Plum

"Three months? You're three months along?" Sam had leaned into you when Dean leaned out. "Mid-September? Dean, that matches up right?"

With arms crossed over his chest, his green eyes traced the branches of the tree giving you shade. "Yeah, almost to  
the day. _____, I think my dad saw you and disappeared the next day. And I'm sorry, we're all worried and on edge I think. Did he say anything out of the ordinary, act strange."

The only interaction that night had been, well, personal. "We didn't talk too much, Dean. How much do you want to know?"

"Just anything out of the norm for him. Don't think of us as his kids right now. If you think it would help, say it."

"Ok, um, he just showed up. He never just showed up. He'd always call at least a couple hours ahead of getting there." Your dad let out a soft cough. He was going to hear things about you he probably never though he would. In his mind you were still seven years old in a princess party dress.

Dean's whole demeanor had changed, you were now being interviewed. There was no nicety, no sensitivity. Just the facts, ma'am. Sam sat quietly listening to the story you told. "I hadn't seen or heard from him in seven months. Not one word. Then I come home, and he's just there waiting in my apartment."

"You didn't call him all that time?" Sam knew how personal this story was going to be. He was leaning in and listening kindly. Dean looked uncomfortable and stared at his fists clenched on the table in front of him.

"I just never called him. That wasn't part of what we had. I didn't want to be clingy, you know?" Sam nodded and tilted his head before he spoke further. "So he was there, everything was normal. Look, this is gonna border on TMI, guys. There wasn't much interaction except..."

"But we need to know. It might tell us something." Dean looked at you finally. He'd softened a bit, but stayed guarded.

"Alright." With a big sigh you pushed on. "John and I, well, we had fun. It was intense, but we'd crack jokes and jump on innuendos. I knew that his life had been rough, but there was something else that night. Something was bothering him. I asked, but he wouldn't budge. Kept kinda blowing me off, ya know?"

Reliving this was making you pick the night apart. "Now that I think about it, he talked about my face. He called me beautiful. That was something he didn't say. I mean, he always complimented me. But the verbiage was different." Green and Hazel eyes were evaluating everything you said. Searching for anything that might give them any hope.

"At first he acted like he was gonna stay for a while, ya know? Like we had time. When he only had a night, he, um, rushed. So...I cannot believe I'm gonna say this. He would rush through the first time, so there was time for more."

Sam gave a scoff and looked at his hands, pink nose and cheeks showing how uncomfortable that last bit of info made him. A soft 'well then' came from Dad.

"Hey, now. You guys said. Don't talk to you like you're his kids. I kinda wanna crawl under a rock right now."

Dean spoke up, sounding more like a FBI agent investigating a missing persons case than a guy looking for his dad. "He didn't say anything. Didn't give some crappy story about running out for coffee or something?"

Your mind started wandering while you answered Dean's questions.

John relaxing back onto to bed and pulling you down over him.

"No. I told you I woke up and he was gone. There was no note, no message, no trace of him."

You reached back and pulled your skirt up further and John's hands followed. Somehow those heavy, work worn hands touched you gently, with such reverence. It made you feel like the most desirable thing in the world.

"No, Sam. Feelings weren't something that we talked about. No promises."

John's arm slid behind his head,grinning when he watched you undress. The muscles just under his skin yielding when you touched him, like he melted into you.

"Daddy, I called him when I woke up and saw he was gone."

"I haven't seen these before, _____. Are these your 'good girl" panties?"

"Are we done, guys? Between my hurt feelings, hormones and telling this story in front of my father and his kids...I'm over this."

"Yeah, boys. I think she's had enough." Protective Dad to the rescue.

Both Winchester brothers stood when you got up from the table. Sam's hand was gentle on your shoulder when he spoke earnestly to you. "Is it ok if we keep in touch? I don't want to bother you or anything, but you know?"

"I'd like that, Sam. Ya know, even if I don't talk to your dad. It'll be nice to have someone from that side around for Little Bit. You guys have my number. Call anytime. Dean, is it ok if I call you from time to time?"

God damn, he looked like his dad when he was holding back from saying too much. "Yeah, I guess. I mean if you needed something."

Dad flung his arm over Dean's shoulder and guided him out the side yard, yapping about engine sizes and carburetor barrels. Sam walked slowly next to you as you followed them out. "You're ok though? No problems pregnancy wise?"

"Everything seems to be normal. Doctor says not to worry."

"Ok. Good. Will you, uh..."

"Yeah, Sam. I'll keep you posted. Thank you. Seriously." He just kinda nodded before he walked out to stand next to the passenger door while Dean lowered the hood and shook hands with Dad. Before he shut the drivers door he was joined by his brother and they both shot you an awkward wave that you returned while Mom looped her arm through yours.

Dad was quickly approaching so Mom quietly told you to keep it together while she squeezed your arm. "I'll meet you upstairs and we can talk up there." She waited until dad approached and started talking louder to make sure he heard her orders. "No arguing. Upstairs, shower, nap. Move it, little lady."

Dad's chest puffed out and he nodded like this was the best idea he'd heard in days. "Agreed! That's enough excitement for you today!" You'd think he was the one that thought of it. The throaty purr of the Chevy was rounding the corner by the time you shut the door behind you.

**********

A shower sounded good. Wash away the gack of the day. It wasn't even lunch time and you were ready to check out for the night. Way too much shit, bringing up way to much crap and reigniting memories and emotions. Perfect warm water flowed over you head when you tipped it back to get your hair wet and you reached out an arm to steady yourself on the wall.

John gripped your thighs tighter and yanked you against his mouth. The smile lines showed at the corner of his eyes when he knew he was making you feel good. Only John Winchester could smile and eat pussy at the same time.

The memory brought a soft sigh to the front of your throat. The thick black of his hair in contrast to the warm brown of his eyes.

With hot breath and ghosting lips, he zig zagged his way up your torso. His tongue traced the underside of your breasts before pulling your nipples, still painfully hard from the orgasm, into his mouth.

Your own fingers were tracing lazy pattern against the skin of your breasts and hips. You tipped your head forward and let the water roll over your neck and shoulders while you cradled and massaged both breasts.

"See, this is why I dig you, John. You're a giver."

"Mhmm. But it's 'cause you sing so pretty when you come."

Christ. was he good in bed. Age had it's benefits, for both of you. You were confident enough to tell him what you wanted. He was smart enough to pay attention. Thank God the shower had a little seat in the corner. After grabbing the shower head off the wall, you sat and placed one leg on the side of the tub.

"John? Have you"

"Nu-huh. You?"

"Nope. I've been the crazy cat lady since you left."

He felt so good sliding into you. Filling and stretching at the same time. What you would give to feel it now. Your fingers slid between the folds of your body, everything swollen from the filthy memories you couldn't stop from playing in your head.

The rumble of contentment that he breathed against your face with his forehead on yours... The weight of his body when you locked your ankles around his back and pulled him closer.

As you held yourself open and letting the water softly pulse against your skin, your head fell against the cool tile and your back arched at the sensation.

The way his mouth hovered over yours. Not close enough to kiss, but close enough that when his tongue darted out to wet his lips, it ghosted over yours. Ugh... that taste of Winchester, it always set you off.

Moving the leg on the side of the tub to spread your pussy more, you moved the shower head closer at the same time. Thinking of the way he controlled the sex that night made little high pitched grunts fall from your lips and breaths to catch on the exhale.

He relaxed his grip on your hip and he allowed you to move with him, both of his hands moving to rest on the pillow at either side of your head. John allowed your to quicken your pace before sliding an arm under your waist and one under your back. Your favorite way to be with John was face to face, zero space between your bodies.

There was a warm pressure building in the bottom of your gut. It was different, slower. It didn't come rushing and slamming like it usually did.

"Oh God, _____. I need..." The noises John made had always been guttural and primal. The softness of tenor and pitch was so different. He came before you, pulsing hot and deep inside.

That night your own climax was lost in his. Today it wasn't. The foot on the floor of the tub pointed on toe when your muscles tensed, hips rolling and riding the seemingly endless shudders and clenches.

Finally relaxing and pointing the cooling water away from your body. Standing on weak legs and hurriedly taking a real shower, you smiled at the memory of a different John that you'd always keep. The night he gave you a child.

Stepping out onto the cool tile floor and drying off, you caught your naked reflexion in the mirror. 12 weeks.... The books said your baby was the size of a plum. You could swear you could see a pooch, or it was a food baby from eating your feelings. Either way, your boobs were bigger.

"I'm gonna get stretch marks. Thanks, John. Ugh." It was easy to blame the guy, he wasn't around to comfort you.

##########

15 Weeks After John

It was completely possible that Mom might explode. She was going to your first ultrasound with you.

"What about names? Any names sound good, _____?" There wasn't a single one that felt right. This was going to be the sound people made to identify your child. You were already bringing a human into a messed up world...least you could was pick a cool moniker.

"Can't pick one, Mom. How'd you decide on mine?"

Her sweet smile crinkled the corners of her eyes as she gave a shy shrug. "I picked your name when I was still in junior high. Always liked it."

Deciding to review yearbooks when you got home, you were set on finding the perfect baby name. 'Dean' and 'Sam' were such strong simple names. Thomas. Scott. Christopher. 

"What about a last name, _____?" That got your attention. It wasn't something you'd given much thought to. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Winchester is a fine name. Honestly though, would you want to explain why your names are different? Circumstances being what they are?"  
And with that, you knew the sound people would make when talking about your baby.


End file.
